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“I don’t have a type.”
“What if I guess, or give you options?” For whatever reason, he wasn’t willing to let this go. He needed to know.
“Ugh, fine.” She gave in with a roll of her eyes and a hint of a smile.
“Long hair, like Brock O’Hurn?” he teased.
“You know who Brock O’Hurn is?”
“I do have Instagram, you know.”
“Right. No, not long hair. I prefer it short. And I tend to like darker hair.”
“Mmmkay, what about eyes?”
“Blue.” She answered so quickly that he’d barely finished saying the word “eyes” before she blurted out her answer.
“Nice teeth?”
“Yeah, but not overly white, you know? Normal-looking nice teeth.”
“Gotcha. What about his body?”
“I feel like we’re focusing a lot on the superficial stuff, here,” she said, scratching at her cheek.
“We’re talking about your ideal man, Car. It’s all relevant. Broad shoulders? Six-pack? What kind of neck?”
“What kind of neck? I can honestly never say I’ve thought about a guy’s neck before.”
“Well, then let’s figure it out. You like ’em skinny, or thick? Long or short? What about mine?” He craned his neck, tilting his head so she could see his perfectly normal neck.
“Ew, no, not like yours,” she said, her tone light and teasing.
“Hey! What’s wrong with my neck?” She was laughing too hard to speak, so he continued. “This is a perfectly good neck. I think you need to reevaluate your criteria.”
“For men’s necks.”
“Yeah.”
She let out another giggle and then stifled a yawn. “I’m getting sleepy.” She moved back down onto her side of the pillow wall. A wall part of him wanted to knock down so he could tell her, show her, that he was all of those things on her list. And yet, he knew he couldn’t.
Fuck, why did he even want to? As Carly’s breathing grew slower and deeper on the other side of the pillows, he stared at the ceiling, trying to untangle it all. His response to her on the plane. Wanting to pretend they were a couple. Lying in a bed with her, hard and painfully aware of how much he wanted her.
Something invisible had shifted inside him, like tectonic plates moving under the earth’s core. He wasn’t sure when the shift had started, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was headed for an unavoidable earthquake. All he could do was try not to hurt anyone when it happened.
* * *
After a group breakfast the next morning, everyone decided to head for the beach. According to Rose, there were “cuties with booties you wouldn’t believe down there,” solidifying Carly’s belief that Rose was A) hilarious; B) fun; and C) definitely an ass woman.
She and Dean had headed back to their room to get their stuff and change into swimsuits, and as she’d tugged on her black-and-white striped bikini—her favorite—she’d paused, taking in her reflection in the mirror. Her snow-white skin stared back at her, and she wondered if it was too late to sneak off somewhere to get a spray tan. Good thing her bikini had those black stripes on it, otherwise she’d blend right in with the beach’s white sand.
She made a goofy face at herself in the mirror, eyes crossed and lips curled back over her teeth. Then she adjusted her bikini top and cracked open the bathroom door. “You decent?” she called, not wanting to walk in on Dean naked. Not because she didn’t want to see him naked—just the idea had heat flushing over her skin—but because she didn’t want to make things awkward. Well, more awkward, anyway.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said. She stepped out of the bathroom to find him looking out the balcony doors, wearing a pair of red swim trunks and nothing else. His back—hairless, thank God—was broad and roped with lean muscle, tapering down to a trim waist. He turned from the doors, rubbing a hand absently over his abs. All six of them. The muscles in his arm flexed as he moved.
Carly’s mouth went dry as she stared at the mouthwatering muscle in front of her. He was cut and strong everywhere—his arms, his pecs, his abs. And—oh, God, help her—he had that delicious V arrowing down over his hips and disappearing into his swim trunks. He had surprisingly little chest hair, with only a faint dusting of dark hair running from his belly button and down toward his . . .
“Car? Hello?”
